


The Service and Fall of Galatea Lilias

by Foxy_Falsiloquence



Category: Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-07-07 11:41:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15907569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foxy_Falsiloquence/pseuds/Foxy_Falsiloquence
Summary: Born on the Shrine World Silence II, Galatea was orphaned and released into the care of the Schola Progenium at an extremely young age. She trained in faith and in combat, often intertwining the two and awaiting the day she could be truly of use in the Emperor's service. After a daemonic summoning puts her life in danger and catches the eye of an Inquisitor of the Ordo Malleus her life becomes more dangerous than she could have ever imagined, and service turns out to be far less glorious than she could have ever hoped.





	1. The  Summoning of 13C

“Her mother has perished in service to The Emperor.” The preacher’s voice was dry as though it hadn’t been used for years. He brought news of sorrow but did not seem in the slightest bit concerned as to the effects his words brought with them. Covered from head to toe in a hooded garment stained the deepest of reds, the preacher was no more than a wraith within swathes of fabric. His shriveled form could have once been marvelous, but his wrinkled skin matched the worn paper of the scripture he wore displayed upon his shoulders. “The child is to be released into the care of the Schola Progenium within the day.” The preacher said no more, turning around in a flutter of crimson robes and papers and exiting the building followed by a small retinue of initiates who carried the excessive fabric of his robes. So was the childhood of Galatea Lilias ended, and so was a servant of the Imperium born.

\---

The skies which reigned above the shrine world known as Silence II were a cool and dismal grey, as they most often were. Judging by the smell of the air it was liable to rain. It was always liable to rain. From pilgrims who’d come to visit the tombs of martyrs and lesser saints, to solemn natives who wandered aimlessly amongst the endless shrines and graves, all who tread upon the sacred soil of the world’s capital took the planet’s name to heart. 

It was only when the piercing and unpleasant sound of a mechanical alarm rang through the eerie marble halls of the Schola Progenium that the unnatural silence was broken. The awful blaring of the alarm was soon accompanied by sounds of the city coming to life for the morning. Church bells chimed in glorious harmony and the sound of drums could be heard in the streets below as average citizens took part of the Carnival of Dawn.

"Up! The breaking dawn waits for no one!" The voice of Jeremiah, the Drill Abbot of dormitory 13C, rang nearly as clear as the morning alarm. "Up with you! Sloth will not be tolerated in these holy halls!"

Thin blankets started to slowly unravel from around the lean forms of forty children. Dormitory 13C was bathed in a harsh white light as the Drill Abbot shouted again, "Alright I expect to see you all dressed and in the chapel for morning prayers before the Carnival of Dawn has come to a close." Jeremiah slammed the door behind him and the room sprung to life. Clothes were pulled from a shared wardrobe; each article was standard issue and perfectly identical, but children often find the strangest things to scrap over.

After the brief squabble over clothing, a line of uniformly dressed children made their way down to where they knew Jeremiah to be waiting for them. Their footsteps echoed off the marble floors and reverberated loudly around the building. It would have been nearly impossible to go unnoticed in the halls of the capital's Schola Progenium.

As expected, the Drill Abbot stood on a raised dais towards the back of the chapel. Despite the gloomy skies above light shone in through the magnificent stained-glass depiction of the God-Emperor, which stood in all its glory just behind Brother Jeremiah. Most assumed it was from an artificial source, while the more faithful of the lot believed it to be the holy light of the God-Emperor himself.

The children learned after hundreds upon hundreds of mornings what was expected of them and dropped to their knees in neat rows. It was one of the few times during the day that the children were silent.

"The Emperor of Mankind is the light and the way," Jeremiah began with practiced ease, "and all his actions are for the benefit of mankind, his people. The Emperor is God and God is the Emperor. So it is taught in the Lectio Divinitatus and so it shall always be. Above all, the Emperor will protect."

"The Emperor will protect," the children echoed, some with more heart than others, "May he reign victorious."

Jeremiah smiled and clapped his hands together, "May this be yet another productive day! I'll see you all after breakfast."

Breakfast was, more often than not, much like dressing. There were brief arguments over identical plates before the crew of forty settled down to eat. Mealtimes were the only times during the day where 13C was left mostly unsupervised, and so they took the time to gossip. It was usually mountains upon mountains of dreck, but one rumor stood out above the rest; someone had made mention that Jeremiah was involved with a cult down in the catacombs. Had the Drill Abbot heard these accusations it would have led to incredibly harsh punishments for anyone involved, but, luckily for dormitory 13C, few knew where the Abbot went while the children ate. 

Breakfast was followed by rigorous training. The sight of forty children, most under the age of thirteen, with guns and blades would be enough to unnerve most men but it was a daily occurrence out in the grassy courtyard. The sound of steel on steel was clear in the air.

"Galatea Lilias, you are paired with Ezekiel Qurite!" A plain boy ran a hand through his chestnut brown hair and stepped forward with a sigh. A stern faced girl with crystalline blue eyes, only slightly older than the boy, came to meet him. 

"Please don't hurt me," Ezekiel spoke in a low and uneasy voice. He'd trained with Galatea only once before and he could still feel the ache in his bones from that day.

"Prayer cleanses the soul, but pain cleanses the body. Both are required for a healthy life." Galatea, so named for her stark white hair, spoke with conviction, "Raise your weapon."

As soon as the younger boy brought his blade up Galatea was on the attack. Blow after blow descended upon his increasingly desperate defenses until she finally knocked the weapon from his hands and leveled her blade at Ezekiel's throat.

"I yield," his hands raised slowly. He took a tentative step back but Galatea stepped forwards with equal pacing. "I said I yield! Let's go again?"

"You would allow yourself to be taken and forced to reveal anything you knew to an enemy? Coward." Her blade was now beginning to press against Ezekiel's neck and the boy stumbled backwards in a sloppy attempt to distance himself, only to trip and fall to his back. Galatea stood above him, sword at his throat. It was only when she drew a drop of blood and the boy cried out that Jeremiah stepped in.

"Enough!" The Drill Abbot's backhand was enough to send her reeling. Dizzy and disoriented she took a knee to regain her balance.

"I wasn't going to kill him," she muttered, but Jeremiah was too busy tending to Ezekiel to notice her comment.

\--- 

It was later that night at dinner that Ezekiel approached Galatea again. The miniscule wound she'd left him with wasn't even enough to merit a bandage. 

"If you're coming to complain about this morning I advise you to keep it to yourself. I was well within the bounds of what is permitted in training."

Ezekiel bit his lip; that hadn't been what he'd come to talk about, but it was pretty close. "No it’s not that. I was hoping maybe you'd be able to give me a bit of help with my technique. How did you disarm me?"

"Ask Brother Jeremiah for assistance if you need it. I will not divert time from prayer for your benefit alone." Galatea returned to her plate, which had been empty for some time, placed it in the dish pit, and walked off in the direction of the chapel.

With a long match she took a few minutes to light the many candles in the chapel, whispering a short prayer over each. When the last wick had been set aflame she jerked her wrist sharply and the match was extinguished. 

“When my knees have worn through the floor perhaps I will have learned my place.” The rough and worn fabric of her pants made kneeling particularly uncomfortable, but Galatea showed no signs of this discomfort as she dropped to the floor. “I need no father, for the Emperor protects me. I need no mother, for the church provides for me. Emperor forgive my trespasses upon your word; may my penance satisfy.”

She reached forwards to claim a ceremonial blade, her pale hair falling and obscuring the half-lidded gaze of her teal eyes. Galatea pulled up one of her pant legs to reveal a row upon row of small scars and wounds in varying states of healing. With a wince she drove the bade into the next empty spot as far as she could without causing lasting damage and twisted. Blood dripped down the pale skin of her thigh. 

“Pain cleanses the body…”

Monotony. Day after day of training and prayer, day after day of devotion and bloody penance; and so the seldom fair and often violent world went on, awaiting change of any variety to break the routine. Outside, the drumbeats of the Carnival of Dusk rose up into the crisp night air.

\---

Despite the many candles that filled the ritual space, an oppressive darkness still seemed to close in from all sides. Light from the flickering flames barely reached the edges of the room, but it still cast its glow far enough to illuminate the skulls which made up the walls of that particular chamber in the catacombs. 

A man stood before a makeshift altar of bones and wood. Red candles decorated its surface along with a strange black liquid and a bottle of wine. His form was cloaked in a heavy black robe, the trim of which was covered in the script of a foreign tongue. The hood of his robe obscured his face. Twelve other hooded figures idled in the room, their attention all on the man at the altar who was clearly serving an important purpose. 

“Et ego invocabo ad fortitudinem autem perversio facio mea imperatum.” The voice of the man reciting the invocation would have been eerily familiar to the children of 13C. It seemed the rumors floating about the mess hall had some merit to them after all. 

Every so often the Drill Abbot was not present to drag the children from bed in the early morning. Some counted this as a blessing and stayed in bed until he showed up, claiming to have not heard the alarm. This was a fairly unlikely lie and was never taken seriously. Jeremiah always showed up eventually but he always looked exhausted, as if he hadn’t had more than a few seconds of sleep. The few who took initiative and began the day in his absence were met with praise. 

Jeremiah did not show up that morning, but something else did.

It first became obvious that something was wrong when the ground started to tremble. At first it was a gente shivering which was barely noticeable, but it soon grew into wrathful convulsions that shook the building to its foundations. Parts of the floor began to crack and buckle leaving an uneven terrain for Galatea to navigate.

The young girl had been the only one out of bed at the alarm and the silence of the chapel had been her comfort for many hours. There was no one awake to train with, so she set herself to training of the soul. Galatea’s reading was unreliable at best, yet that didn’t stop the devout child from pulling a book off the wall and doing what she could to recite the scriptures within. There were a few words that her tongue got tangled on that she had to skip over, but that didn’t dishearten her enough to get her to put the book down.

It was only when the ground started to shake that she snapped the ancient tome shut and forced it back into its spot on the shelf. Galatea had half a mind to go check on her peers; but training ranked above compassion, and so she disappeared down the hallway towards the armory. The sound of a scream she recognized was enough to make her pick up the pace.

While Galatea would have normally had great respect for the privacy of her superiors, desperate times called for desperate measures. Jeremiah never left his door locked and, up until that moment, none of the children had been brave enough to so much as try the handle. The door let out a squawk of resistance as it was pushed open. What Galatea saw was enough to cause the blood to drain from her face and to scar her ability to trust for many years to come, but she was in too much of a hurry to linger on what would surely come to mind again in the future.

Back in dormitory 13C, thirty-eight children faced one otherworldly being and the boy who summoned it. Ezekiel Qurite stood in the center of the room in an ebony robe. His hood was down to reveal his now pale face and bloodshot eyes. His mouth was split into an unnaturally wide grin. If the boy's state wasn't the reason for the cowering children then it was certainly the beast next to him. 

The daemon stood a solid seven feet tall and was barely dressed. A plate of black leather made up the corset which covered only one of its breasts while a set of what may have been spandex pants or perhaps unnatural skin covered its shapely legs. The rest of the daemon's skin was a rich and pale lavender colour and its waist-length oilslick hair was up in a high ponytail. Blood dripped from it’s freshly emerged limbs, and anyone observant enough would surely have noticed Jerimiah’s blood drenched robes on the floor at its feet. It seemed the Drill Abbot had succeeded at a devastating cost.

The beast lunged forwards, cruel claws extended in the direction of a petrified red-haired girl, and drove those wicked blades into her gut. The ginger's face contorted in pain and a scream of agony tore from her throat before she went limp and the daemon pulled its blood-soaked claws back.

The remaining children screamed and scattered. A few stood and tried to fight but it made little difference. It was a slaughter.

Galatea burst into the room in full armor, wielding a chainblade she'd stolen from Jeremiah's room. Her foray into the Drill Abbot's room revealed more than she was happy to believe. Had she not been in such a rush to come to the aid of her peers, she would have dug further, but she knew what she needed to do and was prepared to bring an end to his life no matter the cost.

Resplendent, magnificent, and practically glowing with faith, Galatea fired the weapon to life and charged. Ezekiel fell nigh instantly. His body was weakened from channeling corrupt power and the daemon he'd brought into the world was still distracted with the thin, dark skinned boy it had been toying with. The feeling of flesh yielding beneath Galatea’s blade was ecstatic. The young warrior had never felt the weight of a proper weapon in her hands and the sheer power of it was giving her a bit of a rush. She didn't even wait to make sure Ezekiel was dead before she continued towards the daemon.

The lilac-skinned beast brushed off Galatea’s attack with ease. At this point nearly all of the children who'd stayed in the room had been massacred. The few who remained alive cowered in a corner, tears streaming down their faces. Their flight from the room was being prevented by the position of the daemon, which was in the process of advancing on Galatea.

The bitter taste of fear started to rise in her throat; she swallowed it as soon as it came up. Her stance widened as she tracked the slinking daemon with her eyes. 

"Stance low, blade up, left foot forward," Galatea whispered to herself. The contents of Jeremiah's room may have been rather incriminating but it didn't change the fact that he'd trained her exceptionally well. 

The daemon lunged forwards and began its assault. Galatea was immediately on the defensive. Despite the teeth of her chainblade, her swipes glanced effortlessly off the beast's bloody claws. For a fourteen-year-old child she was holding up well, but it was obvious that she was no match for the daemon Ezekiel had summoned. It battered on Galatea’s defenses with seemingly unlimited energy and the girl was beginning to tire.

Her adrenaline spiked for a moment as Ezekiel's Daemon got close enough to land a hit, but the creature was arrogant and rightly so. It drew its inky black tongue up the side of Galatea’s face and let out a sort of clicking purr. Her knuckles went white where they were around the hilt of the blade and she froze in fear. 

"I could give you the recognition you long for," the voice of the daemon was a low and sultry hiss, "You could be adored."

Galatea's eyes started to glaze over for only a moment as the charm of the beast began to work its magic, but another figure entering the room took up her attention. 

It was all happening so quickly. There was a gloved hand coiled up in the back of her shirt and suddenly she was out of the daemon's grip and flying towards the wall, which she hit with a dull 'thud'.

Galatea groaned and tried to pull herself to her feet, but the pain in her head prevented her from regaining her balance and standing. 

The man who had ripped her from the grip of Ezekiel's daemon was performing much better in combat than she had been. They moved like twin whirlpools, each a natural disaster in their own right. It was almost like a dance; the elegant movements all swift and practiced to the music of the clash of blades and claws. It was much like the brief battle between her and Ezekiel himself. It was over in a matter of minutes.

With the creature slain, Galatea tried to scramble towards the door as the rest of the children had done during the fight, but the commanding tone of the stranger pinned her in place.

"You're staying exactly where you are, kid," he was now coming up to her and she tried to find her weapon again but came up unsuccessful, instead grabbing a piece of rubble. Eyes wide and terrified she tried again to stand, "Take it easy, I'm not here to hurt you."

Galatea was shaking but did nothing to slow his approach. The same gloved hand that wrenched her free of the daemon grabbed her by the chin and examined her face. 

"You're barely even hurt, that's something." he chuckled to himself before offering a hand to the shaking mess at his feet, "You mind coming with me kid? I got some questions for you."

She took his hand with only the slightest bit of hesitation.


	2. A Grave Departure

There had never been a reason for Galatea to leave the planet, but her education ensured she was at least aware of the existence of the wider Imperium. Despite her determination to stay stoic in front of her savior and the three power-armored women who’d joined him as they prepared to depart the surface, the child couldn’t help but clutch the seat of the shuttle as they rocketed towards the voidship hovering above. 

“Piety, Abstinence, Silence, did you ensure there were no remaining witnesses?” The deep voice of the daemonslayer broke the relative silence of their journey. He spoke with authority, as if he held sway over the powerful looking triplets he addressed.

“Yes, sir.” It was the center woman who replied. “Myself and Piety saw to the elimination of any remaining heretics; Silence was able to successfully erase the memory of the daemonette from the remaining children. Minimal casualties.” The report Abstinence gave was curt and clear, like she’d given a million before it. 

“Excellent. Glad to hear it, ladies.” The man spoke with a heavy accent that only the most studious would recognize as being Terran. Galatea wanted to ask who he was, why she was coming with him, but a stern glance from one of the armored sisters was enough to quell any words she would have spoken. 

The shuttle jarred and groaned as it came to a rest upon the voidship. From their position Galatea could see much of the surface of her world. It was all marbles spires and towering alabaster statues depicting great saints of the Imperium’s past. It was beautiful. It was radiant. It was maybe the last time she’d ever see it. A tear left a shameful wet gash upon Galatea’s cheek.

The closest of the women wiped the tear away and spoke as gently as she could, being a woman of no small status with no time to care for an upstart acolyte. “Listen, little one. There’s no need for despair right now; you’ll have more than enough time for that later. Right now you can revel in the knowledge that you were chosen for something more than toiling away amongst graves. Alric is a good man. Be grateful he found you.”

With those words she filed out of the shuttle and out onto the docks. Galatea hesitantly followed suit, practically glued to the woman’s side. “So which are you?” The child raised her airy voice to the woman in armor she clung to. “He addressed you all at once; which one was you?”

“Piety.” She laughed; it was a rich sound, one that carried many years of experience to offer it depth. “Sorry, I should have introduced myself. Abstinence is the short one, and you can tell Silence and I apart by our hair. I can’t see any of that proving important though, Alric is the one you need to worry about impressing.”

Galatea looked up at the man who led them through the maze-like halls of the voidship and watched the back of his long leather jacket flap behind him as he walked. He seemed to know where they were going, even if she didn’t. The whole place was humming with energy, both electrical and human, and smelled faintly of oil. The air was heavy with a more prominent scent like that of lightning as they passed an ornate golden door, and Galatea’s hair stood on end in the static. It was unnerving to say the least. The hallways seemed empty for the most part, but those they did run into hurriedly stepped to the sides of the hallway and bowed deeply to Alric as he passed. Galatea began to wonder just who he was.

It seemed like years of navigating the claustrophobia inducing halls before the scenery started changing. The uncovered machinery gave way to a less oppressive atmosphere as they continued along their way. The space became more populous, but the crowd still parted before them. Steel panelling now covered the workings of the voidship, and the grates on the floor transitioned quite suddenly to concrete tiling. A sense of unease was rising within Galatea’s small body, but she swallowed it down as best she could.

“Piety, Abstinence, stand guard at the door,” Alric said in a cool voice, his golden eyes flashing in the iridescent lighting. “Silence, you’re free to go.” 

They were approaching a decorative door made entirely of elaborately carved wood depicting Saint Aspira locked in glorious combat. Galatea had to pause and marvel. She ran her lithe fingers over the wood, feeling the delicate curves and nicks that made up the rendition, feeling the power that it put off in waves just by being there. Alric sighed, grabbed her wrist, and dragged her away and through the door as Piety and Abstinence took their posts outside.

The interior of the office was simple, but spoke of great wealth. The furniture was made of the same dark wood as the door had been, and the seats were cushioned with red velvet. Worn papers were scattered across the massive desk that dominated a large portion of the room, and a servo skull equipped with a lantern hung idly above it. There were heavy drapes over a window that Galatea assumed would let her peer out into the void. Alric caught her eyeing the drapes and threw them open. She was greeted by an aerial view of the canteen. It was teeming with people packed so close together that they might have been one organism. 

“Take a seat.” Alric’s voice broke the child from her reverie and she snapped to attention at the sound before following the simple instructions and setting herself down on one of the chairs, careful not to damage what must have been an expensive piece of furniture. The man smiled gently at her and shook his head almost imperceiveably. “You can take the armor off; it’s too big for you and it looks uncomfortable. No one here’s going to cause you any trouble.”

Galatea had almost forgotten she’d been wearing the bulky piece. It had felt so right to be protected. She was almost hesitant to take it off, but Alric’s expectant golden gaze pierced through the armor one way or another and made it very difficult to disobey. She stripped out of the cheap metal and returned to her seat, now in black slacks and a white button-up shirt: the uniform of the Schola Progenium.

As soon as the child had settled again Alric continued to speak. “I am about to present you with a choice. The Emperor always offers a choice, though not always one you’ll like. That is something you’ll understand with greater clarity if you choose as I pray you will. Tell me, child, what do you think you saw today?”

“I don’t know.” Galatea’s voice was suddenly infinitely smaller than it should have been. Alric scowled. The answer was clearly not the one he was looking for, but it was the one he’d expected. The man’s displeasure struck her like a bolter round. “I don’t need to know. That was beyond the sanctions of the Emperor.”

This time Aric laughed; the sound wasn’t natural coming from him. “Are you saying there are things beyond the Emperor’s infinite power?” The question was asked lightly, but Galatea saw it for what it was: an accusation of the direst heresy.

Her teal eyes widened and the child started to backpedal desperately. Her words were desperate and tripped up her tongue as she scrambled to spit them out quickly enough to please the increasingly intimidating figure before her. “I. No, sir. The Emperor’s power is, of course, absolute. I would never imply otherwise! I just. I.”

Alric raised a hand to silence the child, and the rambling immediately stopped. “If that was what you were saying, you’d be right.” Galatea shot to her feet, words rising in her throat to spew like righteous fire, but Alric rose with equal speed and his harsh words cut through whatever she was about to say. “Sit down!” He’d drawn an autopistol more quickly than her eyes could follow. The girl complied. “If you would quell your zealotry long enough to let me speak, maybe you’d find my words more to your liking.” His voice had power, and between that and the autopistol Galatea was feeling very inclined to listen.

“Forgiveness, sir. I spoke out of place.”

“Yes, you did, but it can be forgiven given the circumstance. Now are you ready to hush long enough to listen to my words?” The child nodded slowly. “Perfect. How shall we begin? Ah, yes, the thing you saw in the dormitories. You certainly know of the existence of the warp, and that of warp travel. It is not nearly as safe as the rulers of the sector would have you believe. The denizens of that benighted place are far beyond human comprehension. They come through the thin veil between worlds, slavering for the souls of humanity. They may not be beyond the reach of the Emperor, for he has given us weapons of faith to fight them, but it is the duty of mankind to defend its own soul. Daemons they are called; dangerous things of instinct and foul intellect. That is what you fought.”

Galatea had blanched, her expression a portrait of horror. Her fingers were shaking despite how hard she tried to stop them by clutching the armrests of her seat, and her lip was quivering. Her eyes were watery, but she refused to let tears spill over. 

“That’s all I can tell you for now, and given your current state I don’t think I should increase your burden any more at the moment. Knowledge of chaos is an insidious thing, and it can rot you from within if you don’t know how to manage it.” Alric’s expression was hard and his eyes somewhere far away. Galatea waited for what seemed like an eternity for him to return to reality. She jumped when he started speaking again. “Right. I told you I would give you a choice. You know more than a civilian of the Imperium ever should. Had you not performed so well with the daemonette your choice would be that between the pyre and a bolter round, but you have excelled, and so the Emperor offers something only slightly more favorable.”

Galatea’s nails were beginning to scratch the unfinished wood of the armrest.

“Allow me to introduce myself properly, Galatea.” The child didn’t recall giving Alric her name. “My name is Alric Kraus, Agent of the Holy Ordos of the Emperor’s Inquisition. Inquisitor Kraus suits me fine though, the full title is a mouthful.” 

This time Galatea dropped from the chair and onto her knees before the Inquisitor. She was in the presence of one of the holiest and most powerful servants of the Emperor, and it didn’t suit her to behave as an equal. She only spoke once her forehead was pressed to the carpet. “I beg pardon for my earlier rudeness, Lord-Inquisitor, I-.”

Alric, once again, cut her off. “Enough of that. I won’t have the theatrics. You have a choice to make, Miss Lilias, one directly tied to your continued lifespan. I can’t promise to keep you safe if you accept my offer, but I can promise I’ll see you on the pyre with the rest of 13C if you decline. Please understand, it’s nothing personal; I just can’t have a kid running around spreading knowledge of chaos. I will grant you the Emperor’s mercy if this is too much for you, but if you choose to accept you can serve Him in the fight against chaos.”

“Yes.”

“This is a heavy decision, kid. Are you sure you don’t want the night to think about it?”

“My life has been devoted to His service. I would be deeply honored to be allowed to serve as yours, Lord-Inquisitor.”

The Inquisitor let out a chuckle and offered a hand to the child at his feet. “That’s a good choice. Now get up; you’re so small and I don’t want to step on you.”


End file.
